The Family Jewels
by Parthenon15
Summary: Dumped in a world of vanity and luxury during the 1960's, Violet is determined to find her siblings who were torn by the hands of her enemy, Count Olaf. As she tries to find them with her unique inventing skills, she realizes there's a greater danger than the schism of V.F.D. with the help of an unlikely comrade. Please rate and review.
1. Chapter 1

Dressed in a dirty, stained white and itchy lace wedding dress, Violet Baudelaire was pacing at a steady rhythm, hands on her waist. Her eyes furrowed in deep concentration, doubling her use of energy without her beloved ribbon. Backstage, the light from the make-up tables enveloped the green room where Violet was well, desperate. The train of her dress kept getting in the way of her path that she furiously gathered the fabric and was about to rip it in anger when there was a knock on the door.

_Already? _She asked in her mind. The androgynous person came in, interrupting her and offering it's hand. The hand gestured her to come forward and her mind screamed that she wasn't ready. Her eyes danced for some sort of relief but she was mind blank. Doomed. Hopeless.

She grimaced with displeasure when she followed it and took the hand of the strange individual, and linked it with its arm. _Sign with your left,_ Klaus whispered in her mind. _The only option I have, _Violet thought. As both began to walk the aisle out in the open, the curtains at the end of the backstage route were raised and revealed the audience, all eyes on her, placed in the grimy backyard of Olaf's "mansion". Some of audience members put on a small smile as she came along but others were just dreading to have survived and still surviving the lead actor's performance.

_I don't blame them_, Violet thought. The short walk to the stage led to a two-step staircase, and it wailed as it creaked under the weight of the bride. She picked up her skirt and another hand was offered to her. This one though turned her face chalk white, and panic streamed in her mind. She was paralyzed than ever before. She slowly raised her head to see the pair of mischievous eyes and that scraggly eyebrow. _Sign with your left. _The hand was unnaturally polished to begin with but it left traces of some liver spots masked under some foundation and the early stages of fungi spreading on one of his nails.

_For them, come on_, Violet urged herself. She grabbed that God awful hand and was bestowed with that God awful man wearing a moth eaten white silk suit. At the corner of her eye she saw something swaying, a little whimper near the tilted, crackled tower. _Sign with your left. _Violet held her tears and faced the dreadful man and masked her face with disinterest and a little hint of emotion just to carry on with the play. He took both of her hands, and unexpectedly looked into her eyes.

There was tenderness in them. _Creeeepy_, she added. Her two bridesmaids caked with powder, could be heard sighing with happiness behind her. She focused back again to the play and trying to get back into character. Those eyes made her uneasy, they always did. There was sense of dread in the pit of her stomach whenever she looked back, the kind where your're about to never see the light of day. _Sign with your left_, she kept chanting. _Sign with your left. _

"Line," he whispered. Violet furrowed her brow with confusion. _What line? _She thought.

"Line!" Olaf hissed. The panic kicked in again and Violet felt her knees trembling. _Sign with your left. _ Olaf's hand squeezed hers harshly, reminding Violet that a lot was at stake here. But Violet was left completely oblivious, fearful for her sister's life. She noticed the sudden jerk of Olaf's hand, ready to speak through the walkie-talkie.

"Line..." he threatened _Sign with your left, sign with your left_-Sunny's cage moved with the wind, the creaking could be heard from the stage ascending in sound, loud and clear. _Sign with your left! - I do. - Sign with your left. Wait! _

"Drop the monkey." He swiftly said and all that came from Violet's lips was a piercing silent scream.

Violet opened her eyes, gasping for air in the musty attic. She steadily looked at the rotten wooden ceiling just to keep her thoughts calm. _It's just the same old nightmare_, she soothed herself. When her breathing descended and constant she stood up from the bed, legs still warm from the half torn blanket. There was a soft pattering from the roof, and the usual leak was present filling itself in a bucket. The glare of the sun was muffled by the grey clouds and woe hung about the attic. Feet touching the rough wood Violet noticed something awfully wrong; her eyes wide open with surprise.

In the distance, she noticed someone calling out her name in a desperate plea. _Oh no_, Violet thought. She opened the door wide, and she ran, ran down the long spine of stairs, hand placed on the railing, bare feet pounding the floor. Close to the door sculpted with an eye in the middle, she saw two opposing forces in an attempt to win a rigged fight. It was them, her siblings' one trying snapping the leg of the bald man with the long nose, the other trying to unhand himself from the androgynous person.

"Violet!" Klaus shouted through the tumult. His glasses were tussled about his face, the force of his opponent overpowered his weak arms.

"Stop! Let them go!" Violet cried out, tears about to burst. _Please, no, no_. She thought.

Violet continued to go down the stairs but both members of the theater troupe opened the door and escorted the other siblings harshly, rushing and fighting through the weeds and dead grass of Olaf's front lawn. Rain was pouring on everyone and beside the sidewalk was a busty black car with windows tinted in gray. The driver hidden like a black silhouette was waiting and the bald man brusquely opened the metal doors and threw the siblings in. Violet continued running but a figure blocked her path. She quickly looked up and noticed the stylish dangerous heels tapping with authority, cigarette in hand aced with dagger fingernails smoke billowing from the mouth of Count Olaf's villainous girlfriend, Esmé. She had an evil smirk smacked on her face, arms bounded tight on the door frame; escape was slim.

"Where do you think you're going, orphan?" She asked with disdain.

"Get out of my way." Violet angrily responded and suddenly her true feeling towards Esmé was shown with a quick painful slap to her cheek. Esmé gasped, surprised by such "barbarian" manners. Violet noticed the entrance was open, not caring about her actions but focused solely on her siblings. _No one messes with my family_, Violet thought. The rush of cold water on her body made her more awake, more conscious about the serious matter at hand.

The engine roared alive and Violet was close to the car. She ran faster than ever before. The back window of the car bore the two desperate faces and Klaus immediately scribbled down something and pasted it to the inside of the window. It wasn't very clear to Violet's eyes; she could only discern a few letters. Is that an F? The car began moving and Violet followed. She wasn't going to lose sight of that car no matter what. Her siblings pounded on the window, their screams muffled by the thick glass and metal, their faces blurred with the rain. The note seemed to be alive morphing from code to plain English by the second. Violet's eyes read "GREEN LIGHT DIES" What? What did that mean?

Violet breathing was getting irregular. She breathed through her nose as hard as she could. Then in a moment, the car began to take speed. Twenty to thirty, thirty to forty. She couldn't keep up. _Come on, come on._ She pepped herself. Then suddenly, her foot with all its force twisted itself, her body falling until finally, hands and head landed harshly on the pavement. She felt her wrist crack with the pressure of the weight; the pain was unbearable, her vision was scattered in a million different directions. The car soon decreased to a black dot until it was there no more.

She couldn't get up, she didn't want to. There she was lying in a heap in the middle of another unfortunate event. One couldn't discern where her tears and the rain were on her face. The surrounding buildings towered over her, the rain splashed and boomed next to her ears. Her senses were all over the place; her vision was soon closing in to darkness. There was nothing she could do.

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

In the entrance hallway, stood the white chalk faced women, and the tall knobby body of the hook-handed man, eyes tired and cloaked under his trench coat. Silence reigned between them. Shock spread across Flo's face, the smaller of the two women, hand over her mouth.

"Why would Olaf do this?" she asked. Her jet black hair was kept tight in a bun, lips accented with blood red. The other, a little heftier, got out a little handkerchief to wipe away a few tears. Their white starched dresses contrasted with the decaying decoration of Olaf's two story "palace". The room seemed to be stagnant, cold, and alien something that wasn't surprising to the troupe but it hit them how inhumane things came to be.

"Well it's obvious isn't it," The hook handed man said steadily, scratching his stubby chin with the cold metal. "The others are just placeholders and nuisances to him."

"But they're children!" responded the other white faced woman, Tocuna, blowing her nose at the same time. Her dress in some areas where stained with a few brushstrokes of mascara and patches of blush scattered around, you could say politely that it was a one of a kind pattern with a white backdrop. "They might be annoying, but they're children!"

"Do you know where they're going to be sent?" asked Flo arms crossed, her face full of concern.

"I have no idea-" He shook his head.

"Hooky! Why don't you pick up the brat?" Esmé asked as she stood up from the floor taking off her hot pink matted fur jacket. She dumped her cigarette to the floor and smashed it with her stiletto heel. "I have to change outfits for the trip."

"I only take orders from the Boss." The hook-handed man confirmed.

"Hey! We're tired with those stupid cockroaches, help a little will ya?" The bald man said as he entered, clothes soaked from the rain, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. The androgynous person walked over to seat itself on a furnished chair.

"Hello, I have hooks!" he yelled with annoyance. _Incredible, their so fudging stupid._

"Well just drag her back! Olaf wants her in the car." Esmé said with disgust, waving her hand.

"Fine." He said with a sigh. He punctured his fedora hat from the hat stand and unhooked it to keep it in on his head. His echoing footsteps headed out of the porch, and he walked and checked to his left and right as he was drenched in raindrops. His hat threw over the excess of the rain on the brim, blinding his eyesight. He scrutinized his eyes and caught something to his right. It was an unnatural mound on the road. He furrowed his brow with confusion and ran towards it.

As he ran closer, there she was, crumpled and bleeding on her knees and forehead. _Shit. _He poked her with his dress shoe but her body was unresponsive. _God, did she die?_ He thought. He squatted and leaned in closer, listening carefully despite the constant rhythm of the rain. There it was, she was breathing but it was very shallow.

_Crap, how do I pick her up now?_ He crouched down and spread his arms under her body but his hooks got in the way poking her or hooking onto her dress sometimes. _Damn it_, he thought. He tried again putting his arms under her body and then a thought crossed his mind. _Maybe this'll work_. He rotated his hooks upwards and finally, he lifting her, hooks locking her in place. Her arms and legs drooped down and her hair covered her face. Her dress was weeping and stained with a few spots of red.

_She's bound to get sick sooner or later_. It felt like he was carrying a sack of potatoes despite her tall skinny frame. Now that he noticed, she ran about six blocks away from the house. He looked back at her hidden face and shook his head. _Incredible_, He thought in a sarcastic tone. _She must really love them_. The rain slowly descended to a drizzle but the street still held a mournful atmosphere. He replayed the moment she ran, her face filled with desperation and mercy and that speed-

"Oi! Hooky!"

He looked up and Count Olaf was there, with authority and brash as ever before. His ragged pinstripe coat and pants worn on his body, gave off the faint smell of poor hygiene and reached the hook handed man's nose. _What does he want now? _He thought. Esmé came along his side with a yellow pastel colored poodle skirt, ready to shower him with compliments.

"Yes, boss?" The hook-handed man said.

"Get her in and shut her up in her room, eh? She needs to prepare her suitcase-"

"Come on darling, let's go back inside" Esmé said, hugging his waist.

"Boss, she's hurt."

"Hurt? Is it bad?"

"I believe so."

"Damn it" he muttered. "Flacutono! Get me a couch, now!"

'What happened?" Flo asked from the door. Her eyes surprised, hand covering her gasp. "Oh no. Tocuna bring me water, a bucket of it."

Immediately, the bald man moved over the couch. The hook handed man jogged towards it and slowly rotated back his hooks to lay Violet in place. Her face was flushed without color, full colored lips were replaced with pale ones and blood trickled from her hairline. Flo kneeled down to the couch's height and without permission, grabbed the hook handed man's sleeve and ripped a generous amount of cloth.

"Why, thank you. You just ruined the only decent outfit I own."

"Oh, shut up." she responded. She dips the fabric with water and places it on Violet's forehead. She didn't stir, but her breathing was measured and steady.

Olaf walk in long strides towards them, slight worry impressed on his face. Esmé followed behind and took a peek but her disdain never shook as she saw Violet's delicate state. The sting on her cheek was still there, persistent in her memory, as well as the salmon pink handprint. It was strange that Olaf hadn't noticed.

"Is she alive?" Olaf asked, worry lines appearing on his forehead. He lowered himself to Violet's motionless body and put his hand on her sodden hair.

"Very." the hook-handed man answered, raising one eyebrow by the strange gesture Olaf made.

"Well, that's what matters. We can still get the fortune," Olaf said, pulling himself together and stood up to fix his bowtie. "Tocuna, get her things, whatever's left of it. I believe her suitcase will be in the attic."

Tocuna nodded, hand placed on her forehead in a military salute. "Aye, oh Captain, my Captain." She disappeared immediately towards the stairs.

"Flacutono, and... you," Olaf indicated towards the bald man and the androgynous man. "Get all the food in the pantry. Canned goods would be smart to collect."

"Boss-" the hook-handed man started.

"Ah! Don't interrupt my train of thought! Where was I? Oh, the food and don't forget the wine-" Olaf continued.

"Boss, look-"

"Mark my words, Fernald, the trip will be short and sweet." Olaf threatened.

"Boss, she's starting to wake up."

"What?" he said surprisingly. He approached immediately to Violet and saw her eyes moving a little, her eyelids opening.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Flo exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Most of the troupe gathered around, witnessing Violet a little light headed. Flacutono leaned in just a tad too close; he couldn't miss this. It was as if Sleeping Beauty was waking up right before his eyes. She furrowed her brow with confusion.

"Klaus?" she asked, squinting.

"Not quite." The bald man grinned cunningly.

On instinct, Violet stood up, away from the enemy to a far corner in the room. She started to limp through her way out of the sea of monsters. She looked around and quickly grabbed a candle holder from an antique table and posed it as a weapon. Her expression was paranoid, her sense of self, that confidence was completely and utterly gone.

"Violet," said Count Olaf with caution. "Put it down. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Where are they? Tell me!" Violet responded.

"Miss Baudelaire," Flo said approaching her and grabbing Violet's hand, guiding her towards the stairs quickly. "Now's not the time for discussions like these. You're hurt."

"No I'm n- " Violet began but soon replaced with a grimace of pain. Her ankle burned and she noticed a throbbing on the side of her head. _This is bad, this is very bad_, she thought.

"Come on, let's tidy you up." Flo comforted her.

"But-"

"There's no time like the present." Flo interrupted her as both went up the stairs.

Violet was completely lost and confused. She remembered vividly the blur of events, yet she felt numb. Was it denial? _Maybe it's just a dream. Of course. It has to be._ Her siblings would still be sleeping there in the little space they call "home". Flo turned the cold knob and there was Tocuna folding the few remaining dresses Violet owned from the cardboard box.

"Tocuna, do you know where the make-up kit is?"

"I think its two doors down."

"Alright," Flo said and turned towards Violet making eye contact ready to say instructions. "Don't move or do anything brash. A lot has happened, just remain calm."

Violet didn't respond. She was still immersed in her jumbling thoughts. Flo gave a nod to Tocuna and vice versa. Tocuna finished up but left one dress in particular, the one she wore on that fateful day on Briny Beach, a dark magenta dress paired with a knee length purple coat, buttons lined up in the middle.

"Wear this and knock when you're ready." Tocuna said cautiously, not sure how Violet would react. But there was still no response, and Tocuna understood. She closed the door with whiny hinges and there was silence.

* * *

The sleek black car kept stuttering its engine that it drove Olaf borderline insane. Actually, he is insane.

"God damn it. Work with me here. Come on, we're friends; we've been through thick and thin. Don't go now. I need you." He kept pleading, caressing the dashboard.

He met the abnormal expressions of his male troupe members, stopping in the midst of putting overweight suitcases in the trunk.

"What are you looking at?!" He yelled, raging that he was watched in the middle of a private conversation with his buddy, Black Stallion. "Get back to work, or I won't share a penny with you lot!"

Hurriedly they resumed their momentum and Olaf chuckled under his breath. "As if!"

"Honey!" Esmé called out, strutting towards her criminal boyfriend. She was clutching in her hands two ridiculous looking pairs of shoes, one of them bearing a cheap cheetah pattern and the other one seemed like someone threw up all over them. "Which one should I bring to the party?'

"Bring both; we've got a lot of running to do from the authorities."

"Oh, you're right. If that's the case, then I should bring those chiffon dresses I bought last week."

"That's great, sweetheart." Olaf smiled and barred his teeth. Esmé smiled back and quickly went back to the house. Immediately, Olaf got back to business mode, trying again to turn on the car.

"Fernald!" He yelled frustrated. The hook-handed man came back from the trunk, and looked inside to watch Olaf finally taming the brute of a car he had.

"Yes boss?" Fernald asked.

"Go and remind the ghosts to come with that klutz. Is that understood?"

Fernald nodded. "Will do."

He went away and Olaf quickly checked the clock on the dashboard. It was close to noon. His fingers began to tap consistently, the excitement in his veins rushed his blood. It was all going to be over. The misery, the poverty, all gone. He couldn't be more thrilled.

* * *

The tension in Violet's bedroom rose with the cold aching silence. Violet couldn't help it anymore. She dumped herself on the bed, not caring about the physical pain. Her heart was dying, she knew it. She sobbed uncontrollably, trying not to make such a racket, fearing someone will hurt her again.

"They're really gone," she whispered. "They're gone."

What was she going to do? She was there vulnerable as ever, surrounded by the people she abhorred. God knows where in the world they are and with whom. Who in the world was the driver? Why did this ever happen? She caught a tear on her cheek when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A slip of paper tucked under Klaus's pillow. She's never seen it before. _Could it be?_ She quickly picked it up as if it was her last resource towards safety and in some ways it was. She could tell it was Klaus's handwriting, spaced proportionally and strictly in print.

May 15, 1963

"The telephone rings in two minutes at the stroke of midnight.

Olaf: Please just don't answer it.

Unknown: It's him; we have to report about the trust with the banks.

Olaf: I'll escape him. I'm so close to the money, forget about the banks.

Unknown: (Laughs) Once you'll get the gold you'll be dirt yourself.

Olaf: Look here, I'll be like an eagle, I have a plan-

(Unknown stops the ring from the telephone and sighs. Conversation stopped by inkling of someone following me.)

The note didn't make any sense. How come he never told her in person about this? Now that she thought about it, her brother acted a little odd, despite the abrupt changes the year has brought. She remembered faintly that Klaus had a knack for breaking codes. She remembered one in particular, the one concerning Aunt Josephine's demise, but as far she knows the note was grammatically correct. Sebald Code? Of course, it was. In the note there were two rings. But wait how many words did she have to count? Eleven? She might as well try. She fumbled around the room desperately and finally found a pen lying on the floor. Her ribbon lay by the bed sheets and tied it gracefully to her hair. She sighed in relief, glad that she could hold onto herself for a while just with the reassurance of her dark satin ribbon. She clicked the top of the pen, ready to decipher the message.

"Okay, then," she said to herself. "One, two, three, four…" Her pen swept through the words, circling the ones that seemed to be the key to this enigma. Finally, she found the words:

"Don't trust the gold eagle."

Violet snapped her head to the sudden pounding on the door.

"Finish up; they're all waiting for you in the car!" The hook-handed man bellowed.

"Leave her alone! I'm in charge of her." Tocuna whispered loudly.

"Coming!" Violet said rushing through her change in outfits. Her nightgown seemed like a dead thing that was skinned from an amateur taxidermist. _Pocket? Where are you, pocket?_ She searched around her purple coat. _There_. She stuffed the note inside and with some trouble walked over to open the door. Tocuna was there waiting outside tilted beside the wall, filing her nails. Flo came around and quickly washed her face with a wet cloth since they were running out of time. Finally she got out a tube of lipstick.

"What's this for?" Violet asked unsure why this detail was utterly necessary. But then again, this was one of the white-faced women. Makeup was essential.

"Lipstick is absolutely important. If you're not wearing it, well people lose respect for you, don't they?" Flo said.

Violet thought about Flo's answer while she applied the bold shade on her pale lips. She remembered how her mother whenever a party or a banquet came around, her face glowed. She seemed like a Baroque statue who came alive but, Violet knew how her face looked like. It was stressed, she developed shading under her eyes since Sunny cried every other night. But as she exposed herself to the public with her father, everyone admired her. Would it really be different how people react to the appearance of others? Violet shook herself from those thoughts._ Aesthetic isn't important right now_. Her siblings were miles away from her and she had to grasp them no matter what. But starting with a few scraps of abstract information made things harder. At least the ribbon helps her organize her thoughts.

Two things came to mind and boggled her brain and it was the vague clues Klaus gave to her. What did a green light and some gold eagle be related? Why was Klaus eavesdropping on phone calls Olaf received? Would any of this lead to the location of her siblings?

Flo finished and smiled, "Ready?"

Change is usually adaptable for human beings, it always was but, Violet felt the opposite. She never imagined a life without her siblings by her side let alone without her parents. No she was not ready, she never was but, here she was facing the unknown and it terrified her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello everyone, thank you for reading at this point. I completely forgot last chapter to thank my first follower, so thank you very much! For everyone who's reading I would really appreciate any reviews concerning the story like plot structure or character development. I even put on the guest review thing active, I'm aching for a response. But anyways, please continue reading. :D**

** Update! Thank you so much for the first review, it's much appreciated!**

The car's honk echoed and annoyed Violet's ears. It made a pattern of Violet's least favorite song, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and her senses were far from normal so it was increasingly loud and not to mention, increased her teeth grinding activity. _Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up…_ She thought as she rolled her eyes. On both sides of her were the two white-faced women, guiding her down the stairs and recently discovered that her right wrist was broken. _Great, I'm definitely vulnerable now._

"Come on!" Olaf yelled across from his driver's seat. Esmé sat beside him, all dolled up and ready to kill with her gaze. You could tell she copied a few tricks from the First Lady since she tilted her matching yellow pillbox hat to the back of her head. As for the back seat, both of the accomplices sat squished together still clothed in dull, low saturated garments. Fernald held open the door, his expression wary but uninterested. Unfortunately, Violet's ankle kept panging with pain and she winced on every step. What she really needed at least was a pack of ice to keep it from swelling. But how can you find a meek solution when all around you are destructive machines waiting to do destructive actions? The only danger present against her wellbeing was the sidewalk, slick with rain, and the gang of con men.

"Excuse me; do you still have that washcloth?" Violet said to Flo.

"What for?" Flo asked.

"Well, I might need it. Maybe the bleeding will come again to surprise me."

"Oh yes, yes," Flo said taking out the cloth from the make-up kit. "Fernald, could you hold this for me?"

Fernald grunted with laziness and rolled his eyes but he stuck out his hook and held the little makeshift box as Flo was searching through the tumult. _What's his problem?_ Violet thought as he looked at him. Flo finally the stained washcloth and plopped it on Violet's hand. The damp fabric was soon twisted clumsily to drop the excess water hidden deep in the washcloth's weaving but in a split second it fell on the sticky pavement on cue with a shocking shrill.

"Hey, move over, our guest has to sit down!" Tocuna yelled to her villainous peers. Violet picked up the washcloth now sprinkled with age old dirt.

"We don't need to hear your singing, Tocuna." the bald man said. "We all know the nightingale in this car is me."

"Ha, ha, very funny." Tocuna said mockingly lifting her skirt to enter the car before her was Flo on her trail. When they sat down, their voluptuous dresses took up half of the backseat that there was only space for one person. Fernald and Violet looked at each other with awkward glances but, Violet threw the first stone into the thick haze of uncertainty as she fiddled with the washcloth.

"Well, I'm not going in the trunk, if that's what you're thinking." Violet said. Her ankle still held a steady flow of ache that just made her want to get in the car immediately.

"I can assure you, I won't carry you like last time." Fernald said with bitterness. She ignored his remark and a light bulb flashed above her head, it was so obvious.

_Wait, there's room in the front _she thought. She stepped forward and immediately, a polished hand smacked hers.

"Don't you have any logic, dear? I'm the only one who can sit here. You're nothing but an orphan." Esmé smirked. "Ever heard of karma? She's a bi-"

"You're going to have to sit on top of one of my henchmen _if_ you want the ride." Olaf interrupted. You could tell he was quite proud of his partner's action, arm grazing the top of the worn leather front seat, protecting his Venus flytrap.

_Odd_. Violet thought as she arched her eyebrow with confusion. _Did he give me a choice? _She could abandon them right then and there. Across the street was Justice Strauss's house, painted concisely and flowers bloomed on her front garden. Not to mention, she was a judge, she'd have help with the case of her missing siblings. But she knew, time and time again that all the kind, well intentioned people who've taken care of her family, were either eliminated by the hands of Olaf or didn't do a good job to protect her family. Before her was the troupe, monsters, living and breathing but they held information so sensitive, it will probably make her closer to her siblings than the police ever would. She couldn't believe what she was about to do. She glanced at Fernald with surety and said, "Go ahead. I need a hand to help me."

Fernald closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head. _How dare she? I'll give her a hand, _he thought. He got in the car and offered one of his hooks. She grabbed firmly onto it and intentionally pulled her forward a little too harshly. She stepped in with her wobbly aching foot that she fell like a humongous paperweight. The other troupe members turned their heads, some trying not to snicker, others, according to Violet, put on the most envious expression like the bald man.

"Hey! Watch it!" Fernald barked as Violet stepped on one his shoes or what was left of it. He closed the door.

"Sor-" Violet apologized and immediately the speed of the car hit everyone else glued to the support of the seat although for Violet she hit against her only support, an 8/9 human being with a last slice of metal. She was about to apologize once again but he held a hook up and showed an expression of displeasure.

"Save it, kid." He grunted, annoyed by the weight of a fifteen year old. He deserved better than this.

Violet tried to ignore his reply. _What a gentleman_. Violet thought. She turned her head and faced the window, her elbow propped against the cushioned material of the door. It was quite uncomfortable sitting on someone especially when they're all bony. She saw in the reflection of the window that the bald man leaned forward to gaze at her. She turned her head a little more. _Anything to avoid that creep. _Everything felt completely awkward without the company of her siblings.

Now that she was thinking it through, she might've snatched some leftover nuts and bolts to let her mind be distracted. Her mind kept replaying the scene, and it made her feel worse over time. She hoped to anything divine that her siblings haven't been harmed. Her thoughts we're interrupted as the volume of the station crackled and came alive with a brooding voice.

"It's late afternoon June 7th, and boy was there rain this morning. You'll be expecting the rest of the week raining too, but nights will get a little warm by midnight..."

"Goodness! I think I left the gloves in the house." Tocuna exclaimed from nowhere.

"They're right here." Flo smiled taking out two pairs of white silk gloves from one of her pockets.

"What's the occasion?" Violet asked.

"Oh I think we're-" Tocuna responded.

"Tocuna, we don't need to hear your voice now."Esmé intruded while she checked herself in her handheld mirror.

The car met with an aura of stagnant tension along with a lonesome voice coming from the radio.

Fernald leaned back to the seat and crossed his arms in frustration. How long the trip was going to last, he had no clue but he desperately wanted a time and place to be orphan-free from his life. It was strange how Olaf kept hiding secrets ever since the Baudelaires returned to the house from the village. He would always tell him about his plans but he knew that with a lover by his side things would get sidetracked. The money was the main focus and then everything went back to the damn sugar bowl, and those files. They were going back to the schism, he knew it. He didn't want to be a part of it, but where would he go? How would he escape to a new life? Villains were villains. Everyone knows that. Even if they're united, they would each have their own individual goals. There was always a catch.

"Did you see Hitchcock's movie last night?" the ambidextrous man said trying to break the silence.

"Hosh-posh! Zombies in the Snow is far greater than any horror film made. Hitchcock can go and drown in the waters of Lake Lachrymose, don't you think?"

The rest of the troupe nodded automatically, probably confused about whom in the world Alfred Hitchcock was.

"Well I disagree." Violet intruded. "Psycho was quite well done. The use of the cinematography was executed well to manipulate the audience's reaction. I say he will be in the limelight for many years."

"No one asked for your opinion, brat." Olaf responded. The rest snickered along but Violet.

"She does have a good point-" The androgynous person said.

"I'm not sure you didn't get the memo here Sam," Olaf said stopping at a red light burning bright against the dull backdrop of the sky. "I'm the best and handsomest impresario in this country therefore, I give the final word on everything. Is that clear?"

The echo of a gun being prepared in the front seat put everyone in their place and Sam gulped, relieved he still had some time left in his life.

"Yes, boss."

"Your name is Sam?" Violet asked surprisingly. "Just Sam or is it short for something?"

"They've always called me Sam." Sam responded with a confused expression as if the answer was obvious.

_He still makes it vague_, she thought. She nodded and smiled to avoid any more conversation. Talking now seemed to out of the question, something was going on and she couldn't get any hints or patterns through those fragments of small talk. She put herself in her original posture, trying very hard not to lean back but how she wished for some back support.

Fernald on the other hand, was looking down and saw that something was spilling from the orphan's coat. It was crumpled and there was lines scribbled about. He looked to his right making sure no one noticed and slowly punctured the paper as quietly as possible.

"So where are we going?" Violet dared to ask while _Loverly Spring_ was playing for the umpteenth time.

"Depends on my mood, depends on the weather, depends on whatever may be. Why? Do you have any plans tonight?" Olaf said haughtily.

Everyone alongside her cackled at Olaf's snarky question but, Violet had a few up her sleeve. She wasn't going to be insulted by a man with poor hygiene. She crossed her arms and began directly with her string of questions, the one that kept bugging her mind. She needed answers now.

"Why yes. Well I was tracking down this odd term that was often repeated in the household, a so-called gold eagle. Does it ring any bells?"

After a few seconds of trying to smooth it out, Fernald saw circles around particular words, and then at the bottom it was rewritten with a message. His eyes grew large with surprise. _Shoot! How does she know about this?_ How can he tell Olaf about this without getting noticed?

No one said a word. The air felt parched despite the humidity outside. She caught a glimpse of Olaf loosing up his bowtie looking uneasy and the other members looked at each other.

"Don't continue. I'll cut your throat out if I have to." Someone whispered behind her. It sent her paralyzed with fear but this was urgent and necessary.

"Well?" Violet insisted.

"What do you want to propose, Quid pro quo? That's not part of my contract and I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." Olaf responded.

"So you want to make things harder than they seem to be?" Violet said reaching for the paper in her pocket, but her hand only felt the soft fabric. _Oh no, _she checked in her other one and nothing was there. _Gosh, I must have dropped it._

"What was that?"

"Never mind."

"I thought so. Everyone sing along, bursting and blooming, the flowers are singing, it's a loverly loverly spring, la la la la ..."

_Damn it._ Violet thought. She saw that they passed a sign that said they were outside city limits. _What did the hook-handed man know? Did she say too much?_ She turned a tad more and she met the stone cold gaze of the mysterious figure behind her. Quickly she put herself back in place, maintaining a poker face. The hours passed by, the land turned to pale yellow dirt, the increasing heights of the mountains grew, and dusk was approaching. Soon, the radio crackled and scratched to static and everyone in the car but Violet was complaining at the loss.

"Silence!" boomed Olaf. "Shut up you dummies, I might be able to fix it." His bony long fingers turned the button, trying to find a station, quickly snatching looks from the road but also kept his watch on the radio.

"Look out, very fast deer coming through!" yelled Sam. The car swerved in dangerous, acute motions, sending everyone to be smashed together and yelling.

Violet's ears and eyes shifted to the dilemma at hand and she knew how to fix a radio. It was a simple procedure of interchanging cables and worst case scenario a grass cutter as a tool to snap and attach with the available bandages in the trunk. Easy as pie-

"Countie, why don't you leave that alone, huh? You're going to crash something sooner or later." Esmé said.

"Let me do my job, Esmé! It's my car; I do whatever I want to do with it."

"Eh-hem," Violet cleared her throat. No one noticed.

"Eh-hem!" Violet said louder. A few heads turned and gave her a "be quiet or I'll send you to your grave" expression. But Violet maintained her goal, she needed to do something productive, get her mind off the knot of recent information.

"What do you want?" Olaf asked annoyed at the congested radio.

"I can fix it." Violet said.

"Oh please, don't let that germ come here, she'll wrinkle my dress!" Esmé whined.

"Relax, it's the first and last time she'll ever come here."

"She'll wrinkle my dress!"

"She won't."

"She will."

"She won't!"

"Will!"

"Won't!"

"Will!"

"If you want the radio fixed, the car should stop moving." Violet added.

"Yeah, let's take a break, it's quite crowded and well we need some fresh air." Flo said.

"I will suggest in this troupe, Flo! We shall take a break, then. Flacutono, bring the wine from the trunk." Olaf said as he slowed down the car to a stop.

Flacutono, the bald man, hesitated and looked at the ground. Olaf caught him being unsteady, it seemed as if he knew this pattern of behavior.

"God damn it Flacutono, I told you to bring the fudging wine!" Olaf snarled.

"Well, I see there's a little general store over there," Esmé said pointing over an isolated little hut dimly illuminated and guarded by a pair of gas pumps. She turned around and looked at the males behind her and furrowed her brow. "You did bring the guns, right?"

"Yes, your Esméness." Sam nodded, smiling with his beady eyes.

Esmé smiled back and caressed her boyfriend's stubby cheek, and crooned, "Well, what are you waiting for? Go and do what you're good at! Oh, do bring some sherry; it's the new in liquor."

"Esmé... we have to keep a low profile," Olaf whispered trying to convince her. "We'll steal it later when we're closer to the hotel."

"Get it now while you can!" Esmé continued. "We're in the middle of nowhere, how in the world are they going to catch us?"

"Hey, maybe we can teach the little mongrel how to shoot!" The bald man eagerly suggested.

"That would be a perfect idea! Great thinking, Flacutono, I can see you climbing up the ranks!"

The bald man smiled devilishly at his "noble actions" and made a quick run for the trunk.

"Wait," Violet said. She didn't want to be part of this. "Don't you want the radio fixed?"

"Oh, please, when there's no wine, there can't be any appreciation for music, "Olaf said as he got out of the car. "Fernald, give her the small handgun, her little hands won't be able to carry that rifle."

"Right boss," Fernald said. He flashed her with an angry look since she was immobile. "Move!"

The bald man and Olaf were already preparing with their weapons by the trunk, putting the bullets inside the case. When Violet and Fernald got out of the car, Olaf directed his view to Fernald and resumed his commands. "When I whistle Mozart's 14th symphony, I want the orphan to go inside and ask for raspberries, while you come inside behind her and we'll follow. Got it?"

Fernald nodded and the two men were off near the pedestal of the rusted gas pumps by the little store. Violet saw the store, but any idea to reverse the action wasn't possible without being in a bad position. Who knows what could happen inside; would they recognize her face from _The Daily Punctilio_?

"Hey, come here!" Fernald called.

"What is it?" Violet asked.

"Whatever you do, don't look at them in the eye." Fernald whispered.

"What?"

"The victim; It'll be faster and you won't be as guilty."

"Hold on! I'm just going to get raspberries; I'm not going to kill anyone." Violet convinced herself.

A strong nudge interrupted her speech and before her was a small, polished gun, hook inside the hole where the trigger is. On the other hook though was the small piece of paper she acquired back at the mansion.

"Missing something?" Fernald asked. As Violet reached for it, he placed the paper in his coat and walked away from her.

"Hey, give that to me." Violet demanded as he followed him.

"I wouldn't give this up too easily. I have an offer for you and you could have your message back-"

Then out of the howling wind, the song sprung and to Violet's ears was more of an executioner's anthem. She wasn't ready but Fernald pushed the gun close to her hand.

"The gun's ready to shoot, put that in your coat."

"What about the-?"

"Shh!" Fernald said. They started walking towards the store and Violet was behind limping. Fernald turned around and whispered, "Don't forget the raspberries."

Violet was dead nervous. She never thought she would perform any act of stealing or any crime of any sort. She was stuck, no solutions came up to mind, she was going to help a few con men get their way and this wasn't how she how she rolled. Her foot aligned parallel with the door and looked straight ahead. _Blank mind, blank mind_… she told herself. She opened the door and inside was a meager sized store brimming with goods, lighted with muted white light tubes. To her right was an elderly man, checking his money over by the counter, and smiled.

"Welcome to Whitman's Parlor, how may I help you?" he said replacing his concentrated face with a smiling one, displaying his hard earned wrinkles.

"G-good evening," Violet began. "Umm, do you have any fresh produce, like raspberries?"

"Yes, of course, down by aisle five." The elderly man responded, pointing a finger to the aisle.

"Thank you." Violet said. She stood there for a moment and took a step forward. She could feel the weight of the gun, as if it wanted to pull her down. She looked back at Fernald and she saw that he tilted his hat forward and from the corner of her eye, bustling figures came forward to the store.

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed and along with it was Olaf and his rifle, the sound of the gun cock rang along the walls and Flacutono with his own gun. Olaf walked quickly to the man and pointed it to his head, and the man fell silent, his eyes filled with fear.

"Please, take whatever you want. Don't hurt me."

"Well golly, he's already the best victim I've ever threatened before. Great job!" Olaf boasted and soon enough barked at his ally. "Flacutono! The wine!"

"Got it boss!" His partner in crime shouted over.

Olaf turned his eyes to the money in the man's hand and grabbed it fiercely with his grimy hands and stuffed it down his pocket.

"Violet, don't you think this is rather favorable?" Olaf asked , his eyes shining mischievously at her.

Violet was confused. Should she even answer? "Wh-what do you mean?"

"What do I mean? For God's sake! The man, this man, he's giving in. I think we should play around with him for a while."

"I don't think that's a good idea. We're here for the wine, nothing more." Violet interjected.

"Fernald, be a pal. Go and hold him down."

Fernald nodded and right when Olaf switched his position of power, Fernald put his hook harshly on the man's neck, close to choking him. Olaf, on the other hand, went over to Violet, all shaken up, her eye aiming for the door.

"Where's your gun?" Olaf asked.

"Sorry?" Violet said.

"The gun! Your gun!" He shouted.

Violet jumped at the violent remark, and fumbled around her coat until finally she held it, finger placed on the cold trigger.

"Right here." She answered.

"Fantastic," Olaf said sarcastically. "Have you ever done target practice?"

Violet shook her head, worried about what will happen next. Olaf checked over her gun and nodded to himself and gave it back to her.

"Get into your stance. Point your gun across," Olaf said and went behind her to point at the man. "You need to point it at the center, preferably near the heart."

Violet didn't do anything and Olaf shot his yelling again, "Go, get in your position!"

Violet did so hesitantly and out of nowhere, Olaf's arm went around hers, his hand closing in, and his finger over hers and hers on the trigger.

"Concentrate, Violet." He whispered to her ear, his wrenching breath crawling near her nose. "Just pull the trigger."

"Child," The elderly man said with trouble. "Please, make it quick."

Violet met his troubling eyes of mercy, her hand shook uncontrollably. _I can't do this, I can't._

"Come on, you can do it." Olaf said.

Violet shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. She choked through her influx of sobs; her finger was like a burden that she wished to cut off. The man before her suffered, watching his executioner acting against her values, waiting for his last second.

"I knew you were weak from the start." Olaf whispered. "I'll finish it off for you."

Immediately, Olaf took two long strides to the elderly man and pointed his rifle to the man's head and grinned. "Nice making business with you"

The bullet broke the tense silence, the elderly man crumpled to his knees, eventually falling to the floor. Violet shouted in horror, running as fast from the scene she witnessed, despite the pain in her ankle. She dropped the gun and entered dry land, the wind howling, the night closing in on her. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. _Oh God, wake up, wake up! It's a nightmare, I assure you_, she soothed herself. She was going to go back, back to where her kind thrived and at least existed. She just wasn't fit for this job, maintaining two faces to get what she wants. Her ears picked up on footsteps coming towards her and she turned to see what it was. _Great_. It was the hook-handed man, cleaning his artificial hands on his coat. Violet furrowed her brow at his presence.

"What do you want?" she asked defensively.

"Quid pro quo, right?" He said.

"You have some nerve, presenting this deal now. Do your eyes work? Huh?" She said, wiping her tears. She came near Fernald and shouted. "A man was killed right in front of me! I couldn't do anything! And you just casually walk over and talk to me that way?"

"Hey, I was doing my job!"

"Don't you have a heart?" She asked but soon she was laughing hysterically. "Of course you don't. What a stupid question." At her right, the store emanated a ghostly white light that bothered her so. The two figures stepped out with crates of sweet liquor and she could hear the low hum of cheers from the car.

"I thought you would do anything to save your siblings. Time after time you act upon it and it works so, why not now?" He asked.

Violet shook her head, crossing her arms. "I can't think now. I can't speak now. I can't see, just- leave me alone. I have enough problems to figure out."

"What are you doing out there morons? Come here!" Count Olaf shouted over a large distance.

Fernald sighed. "Think about it. I've got information you'll never have, you know you can't work alone."

Violet looked up and watched him. _He's right. Klaus and Sunny they would have to help; it was either life or death. _She couldn't see his face whether it spoke an inkling of truth or solid lying.

"Hey, come over!" the echoes resumed again.

Violet looked down, her hair brushing along her eyes, and tucked it behind her ear. "Just take me home. That's all I want." She whispered to herself.

Fernald heard her confession and put a hook gently on her back. "Come on, I'll escort you to the car."

Violet shook her head and shrugged off the gesture and said "I'm fine."

"Alright." Fernald said and walked off disappearing into darkness. Violet resumed walking but her ankle soared with pain. She winced and looked across her the vast bleak distanced. As much as she wanted to make things as discreet as possible, the search for her siblings needed a little help. No it needed another person, a person who was definitely close to her nemesis.

"Fernald!"

The figure turned around. Violet took another breath to shout. "Help me!"

"What?!"

Violet rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe she was about to make a deal with one of the devil's servants. "I accept! Come and help me!"

He raced back and Violet put an arm around his shoulder for support. He chuckled and the light from the store made his lonesome gold tooth gleam in contrast with the dark sky.

Violet looked at him confused. "What is it?"

He looked at her, his eyes portraying a coming storm, doomed to graze whatever came in its path and made a frightening, haunting statement that sent a cold shiver on the back of her neck.

"Nice making business with you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for reading on. I appreciate to samusaran101 and Theonewhweaveswords for the reviews. I get very, very happy when I see them. Anyways, this chapter in particular is more of a Part One. I'll upload the next part soon, but please continue reading. Tell me anything, comments, suggestions, etc. I truly believe that with reviews, we as writers can improve our craft.**

**None of the characters are mine, except Rachel, I guess. Pretty much everything belongs to Lemony Snicket, one of the awesomesaucest authors out there.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The car was still cramped but soon enough the troupe was celebrating their victory. The sweet smell of wine overtook the dusty odor of the car and as for the music, they completely forgot about it. They got lost in their own fantasy, endangering their existence for their visions. Beyond the car was complete oblivion, devoid of activity except maybe the crackling decay of burnt organisms run over by the tires and the rhythmic pattern of mounds of grit.

"Don't leave me on the brink of a dying heart!" sang the troupe drunkenly. Some raised their glasses and others cried at the miserable song. Violet wasn't surprised but she watched with wonder at their recklessness. She leaned back at the leather cushioning car door not wanting to have another awkward intrusion to Fernald's personal space. She took a glance at him and he simply sipped deep plum liquid, avoiding her. She looked away back at the night, and was questioning her decision about working with a complete stranger. For all she knew, he might still be working on Olaf's side, and she fell for a double agent. But then she remembered the moment back at the trunk, he even gave her advice about what was going to happen_. I guess he does want to help. _

_But wait. Quid Pro Quo. He never said what he wanted. _

"I want everyone's attention!" yelled Flacutono. Most of the troupe turned around to look at his black silhouette and saw that he held some strange bag that was dripping. "I'd like to give this to dear Violet. The wonders of the cold can heal the writhing warm pain."

Everyone smiled and cheered at the kind gesture but Violet was appalled. _Accept whatever's given to you, Violet,_ she remembered from her father. The other troupe members passed around the bag. A cold bumpy bag of frozen peas lay on her hands.

"Thank you." She muttered without enthusiasm.

"I think he has a liking towards you, Miss." Flo answered.

"Not for long." Olaf interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Violet asked.

"About that, when are you going to do the callback?" Esmé asked.

"Don't spoil it, darling." He told her.

"Come on, give us a hint." Sam said.

"You heard him. Won't say a word 'til who knows when." Fernald said as he finished off the last drops of his wine.

"I say whatever and whenever needs to be said! I won't say a word till the moment is right." Olaf declared.

"Well, at least, are we going to stop and sleep somewhere?" Flo asked.

"No, no time to stop. The reception is a day's away, we can't miss it. I say we're five minutes behind schedule."

"Make yourselves comfortable everyone, things will get quite rough." Esmé shouted.

Olaf stepped on the pedal with more force, the car speeding to fifty miles an hour. Wine escaped from various cups, and laughter bounced the walls. Along the way, spurts of noise erupted near the mouth of the engine.

"Aren't you going to sleep? There's a big day ahead of you." Fernald whispered.

"I think I've suffered worse before." Violet answered.

"Well, I think you're going to relive it."

"Look, we made a deal back there. Stop giving me hints, alright?"

"I made a deal with you about helping you with your siblings. Whatever happens to you, well you've got luck on your side."

"You're right I might as well sleep than hear you speak silly things." She said.

"Good choice." He agreed.

Violet grunted. What in the world could she put her head on? She took off her coat and folded it to a rectangle and replaced it in the same spot. Better. She laid the frozen peas on her ankle and tied the washcloth around it, with a loose version of her Sumac knot. Soon enough, her eyes closed, her mind sent her recurring images of her siblings slipping from her grasp, and the downfall of the elderly man.

* * *

The rays of early morning peeked on the bottom of the night cloth, but then again millions of lights were dazzling, some taxis were driving along the tripled lane street. Violet slowly opened her eyes to the sparkling fissures of light, sprinkled on her eyes. On both sides resided the faux monuments of the world and a few Elvis Presley impersonators crossed the street. Violet turned around and saw that the troupe was bustling with action, Flo and Tocuna spraying and patting everyone with powder and cologne.

"Where are we?" Violet asked to Fernald as he changed from his trench coat to that of a tuxedo.

"Welcome to Vegas orphan, you're in for a surprise!" Olaf wheezed with glee.

_OH NO._ She looked at Fernald to reassure that it just wasn't true. She wasn't going to through this again whether in reality or in her tired mind. She was not going to have it.

The car made a few turns here and there until finally a truly cheesy wedding chapel appeared laced with frivolous details, painted in white and red. _Disgusting, it's like someone dumped a rock hard slice of red velvet cake. _Violet thought. The car stopped in front of the chapel and Olaf's eyes were as bright as ever. He brought out a list of words and lines next to them. Violet leaned in to look but he shot a glare at her and that was enough.

He took out a pen and started. "Alright ladies and gentlemen, I thought about updating the Marvelous Marriage. You see the set design wasn't at its potential and well I have to admit Justice Strauss was about to form a pool of sweat during her lines."

"Pool of sweat? More like chronic bladder pain!" Sam shouted. Everyone burst with laughter, Violet miraculously, chuckled. She remembered how serious but nerve wracking it was for Justice Strauss to play her job.

"Good one, Sam. Alright, based on my observations, I might stick you into your own original roles, and some I will rearrange for the greater good, is that clear?"

Everyone nodded and was focused on their scheme.

"Great!" He boasted with malice. "Flo, Tocuna, Violet will carry the same roles. Esmé, you'll be the crying mother-

"Wait, I gave birth to her?! I didn't ask for this!" She complained.

"Shush, Esmé!" Olaf commanded. "Sam you won't be escorting Violet; you'll be the second best man. As for you Flacutono, you'll be in the seats as the fourth uncle twelve times removed." Olaf looked towards Fernald and gave him a toothy grin. "Fernald, you'll be the groom and I'll escort Violet and be your best man."

"What?" Fernald and Violet asked while the white faced women gasped.

"What?" Flacutono said furiously.

"Fantastic!"Esmé cried.

"I know right!" He smiled, showing off his yellow rotten teeth.

"Wait! What? Isn't it supposed to be you? "Violet asked, pointing at her nemesis.

"Yeah, I thought you were going to go forward with your original plan." Fernald complained.

"Well, why would I do that? I can cash in more than I would've known, and well Violet doesn't deserve me, right Esmé?"

"Of course not. No one can lay a hand on my little criminal. You're the worst."

"No, you're the worst."

"No, you are."

"No, you-"

"I'm not marrying him! He stuck my sister in a cage!" Violet complained.

"Take it down a notch! Look, boss, you really haven't thought this through- I'm not in the will, I don't carry his name." Fernald said.

"Well, now you do. I can assure you, no one will notice." Olaf assured him.

"But-"

"Out! Out everyone! The play must start immediately!" Olaf interrupted.

Like ants, the other troupe members fled from the car and stretched their cramped limbs. Violet managed to open the door and stepped carefully on the pavement. She leaned on the swollen ankle and there were only a few instances of mild pain. The bag of frozen peas drooped and fell to the ground with the washcloth and Fernald picked it up with difficulty.

"Wedding gift from them, I guess. Flacutono shouldn't steal the whole spotlight on himself." Fernald mumbled. "This one's special though." He struggled to pick something up from the pocket of his raggedy old coat. Stabbed on his hook was the note Klaus left her. She picked it like an apple from a bunch, inspecting it if it was genuine.

"Thanks." Violet said. "I was thinking for scavenging for some thick ropes, make some knots, maybe the Monkey's Fist, lure Olaf and hang him. Are you in?"

"We're in enough crap now, so I'm not in." Fernald said,

"Well, do you have any ideas to ditch the wedding?"

"None whatsoever."

Violet stopped in her tracks, confused, hands in her pockets. "Are you insinuating that you're okay with this?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Well?" Violet said as she caught up to him.

Fernald looked down and shot a serious look at her. "Despite that we're under Olaf's thumb, this is an advantage."

"How?"

"I'll tell you later."

Violet caught his arm and looked at him straight through his eyes. "Wait. Since when do you have a fortune?"

"Since now, I guess."

Violet sighed in frustration. "You need to lay out your history with me, if we're going to work together."

"Oh, really? Then the deal is off." Fernald declared, leaving Violet behind.

"I know you need something."

Fernald stopped walking. He turned around and looked at her, poised and brave. A worry in her eyes claimed she knew the truth.

"I can think of many things that you could only dream, but it seems like you also need my help, something specific."

He came towards her. "Now's not the time-"

"Then when? Do you want to tell the truth, create a lie? We need to be on the same page."

"Ms. Baudelaire," Flo called out. "Or should I say Mrs.-"

"We're coming!" Violet shouted back. She looked back at him and started walking without him. "I'm as unprepared as you'll be if you don't tell me the truth."

Fernald sighed in frustration and followed her. She's right. Why does she have to right? Violet and Fernald came closer to the chapel and most of the members crowded over the door, fabric and decorations in hand, fighting over who would enter first. Violet and Fernald entered at the reception and an annoying rhythm emanated from the service bell. Olaf's hand repeatedly struck the bell; behind him most of the troupe was brimming with excitement.

"Hello! I'm in desperate need to marry my soul mate!" Olaf exaggerated as he took Esmé into his arms.

"Countie." Esmé said clearly going with his act.

"Can I get the new couple- to -be, in front of the counter?"

Violet rolled her eyes as both Fernald and she stepped up. Fernald looked at her and wondered what Olaf had in mind to bind up all that money into one. Clearly, he wanted a better life but what about the rest of the money? Did he have any other side projects in mind besides stealing money? Fernald looked back at Violet and caught her looking at him, unsure and worried. Olaf startled them from behind, hand on shoulders, his bad breath ready to attack.

"Remember, Hooky, you're in love with her. Convince everyone how much you want to marry her, things will get easier-"

"I cannot believe you're seeing this as an improv!" Violet hissed, quite bothered by Olaf's thoughts.

"I got it, boss." Fernald said, turning towards Violet, "We're in this together, through thick and thin."

"Hmph." Violet said and every one fell silent as a plump woman came from the back door, holding a cup of brandy, smoking a cigarette on the other but, it didn't keep her from being surprised at the company before her. She hesitated.

"How may I help you?"

Fernald went and grabbed Violet's hand and put it up in the air, showing some form of their "authentic" affection.

"We want to marry today."

"Today?" She asked with disbelief, arching an eyebrow, bursting a plume of smoke from her mouth.

"Yes, ma'am, where do I start?"

"Hold on. Let me get the paperwork. " said the confused woman. She went back where she came from, filled with desks and a copier. The Tocuna and Flo squealed while Flacutono was dead set bothered by the whole ordeal. Fernald analyzed his surroundings, especially at a particular fountain with an angel vomiting pink water. He needed time to sort this out; this sudden dilemma didn't come up often in his categorized everyday conflicts for a criminal. Usually it involved three simple ones: Arson, Kidnapping and Murder. _I guess Marriage falls under each one of them,_ He thought.

On the other hand, Violet glared at Olaf with darts in her eyes.

"Hey. May I have a say in this?"

Olaf burst out laughing and nodded. "Of course you do." Flacutono, Sam and Esmé chuckled under their breath.

"Do you realize that when we marry, this whole fortune of mine, is still mine, I only give up half of my authority. Understand? This won't be an absolute monarchy, the money will be compromised."

"Of course, Violet, I'm not stupid." Olaf agreed.

"Then you should already have this stamped on your forehead, Neanderthal. I won't give up without a fight, and we'll never be in good terms." Violet said, coming closer to Olaf, trying to intimidate him, but she caught the imminent malicious shine of Olaf's eyes, and slapped his wrinkled cheek.

"Stop that, I'm talking." Violet continued. Fernald stepped forward and put Violet behind him while simultaneously Esmé put herself between Olaf and Violet.

"Listen here, brat," Esmé sneered, one finger topped with a sharp red nail extended to point. "You lay one more finger on him and you won't see the break of dawn."

"I'm not afraid of you." Violet declared as she stepped out of Fernald's shadow.

"Think again." Esmé spat.

The plump woman came around and carried a thick stack of paper, dumped it in front of Fernald and Violet. The thump made them pay attention to the present situation.

"I hope your plans didn't make you forget your papers."

"Papers?" Fernald asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yes, it shows me who you are, where and when you were born, and all the fundamentals."

"Oh, shoot, we must have left them back home, honey." Violet said, putting a knuckle between her teeth, that made Fernald surprised at her cooperation.

"No papers. No wedding." The woman stated.

"Oh, come on cut us some slack? Can't you see they're in love?" Olaf said and Fernald took the chance to put his arm around Violet's waist, flashing a crooked smile, tilting his head. Violet merely tugged one side of her lips, making some sort of effort.

"It's quite evident." The woman said sarcastically.

"Please, miss; I give my consent for my daughter to marry her fiancé." Esmé said through her teeth.

"It's 1963, ma'am, we keep records, not promises and statements from word of mouth."

"I need you to cooperate with me, uh," Olaf said as he squinted on a small golden rectangle pinned on the woman's blouse. "Rachel." From the back, a booming quick shot shocked everyone, Violet turned around and Flacutono posed with his gun up in the air.

Violet rolled her eyes, "You're so predictable." Olaf brought her back to the present situation.

"Are you with me Rachel?"

"Don't move, the police will be here any second." Rachel said as she turned the dial on the telephone. She put it on her ear and there was silence. "W-what? The telephone isn't working."

Olaf presented the thick wad of cash in front of Rachel, his eyes resuming while he progressed with his scheme.

"Rachel, be a darling, we'd love to get those papers filled with ink, maybe a little ceremony, huh? Sound good? No more blasting shots in the air like it were the fourth of July. I think that can pay for your next phone bill."

"Don't believe him! He's going to burn this-"Violet said until Olaf covered her mouth.

"Anxiety symptoms, no problem with the bride. So Rachel," Olaf extended his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Rachel was appalled. She looked at the strange bunch and Violet thought to herself, Save yourself.

"Fine, I want you lot to finish up in the next three hours, maximum. What package does the couple have in mind?"

Olaf beamed but soon leveled himself. "Perfect," he muttered. "Tocuna, Flo prepare for costume and make up. I give you total freedom on the aesthetic."

Flo burst with excitement and jumped. "Tocuna can you imagine the possibilities of starting our make-up looks on Violet. It's going to sensational –"

"Marvelous-" Tocuna said.

"Exciting-"

"Thrilling-"

"I can't handle this." Violet interrupted, quite bothered by the circumstances.

"What do you mean? Just go through it another time, you know your lines, right?" Tocuna said.

"Please, I just need some time alone. I can do the rest myself."

"Miss Baudelaire, there's a time when one has to let go-" Flo whispered to her.

"Thank you for make-up, really." Violet said as she left Flo without ending that horrible thought. _I will never let them go. Never. _

"Violet!" Fernald called out.

"Flo, Tocuna go with Fernald to change his garments. Take Sam and Flacutono, as well. I'll take care of everything from here on out."

"Boss-"

"Hooky when you're done, come back. We need to talk." Olaf said, as he flipped through programs exposing the different frilly, over detailed packages. He looked up to Rachel and smiled, "Would you escort them please?"

Rachel jumped at the rotten man and quickly walked towards their destination while the troupe members filed and followed her.

"Countie, should I get your suit? I sure hope there's plaid; I just read that it's in."

"Yeah, go ahead." Olaf said, his eyes feasting over the program. "By the way, grab Rachel, we need the Polaroid."

* * *

Violet wandered through the maze of rooms, dark wood enveloping her surroundings until, a sign marked the door read BRIDE. Simple, but it was chilling for her. She entered the room and closed the door. She put her hands on the chair, and glanced at the long mirror before her. She sat on the chair and put her hands on her face. After she exposed her eyes, she saw a radio atop a desk. She got up and turned the dial finding a news station. After a few buzzes of static, she caught the same low brooding voice and put her ear against the speakers.

"This Nation was founded by men of many nations and backgrounds. It was founded on the principle that all men are created equal, and that the rights of every man are diminished when the rights of one man are threatened." A man said.

"For those of you who've tuned in, this was President Kennedy speaking about the ongoing Civil Rights down in Alabama…" The announcer said.

A knock emanated from her door and she asked. "Who is it?"

"This is Rachel."

"Come in."

Rachel came to the room, wedding dress and veil over her forearm, white heels hung on her hand.

"This is what the weird guy ordered." Rachel said through her mouth, juggling a cigarette between her lips and hanging the outfit by the wall.

Violet didn't say a word but nodded.

"So, are you excited?" Rachel said with false hope.

"I should be." Violet muttered.

"Story too long to tell?" Rachel asked, transferring her cigarette to her fingers.

Violet nodded. "Everything just keeps going downhill."

"Well, let me tell you something. That kid back there, you may not be satisfied, but I can smell something good about him."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. I guess it's the way he acts. I sensed that he cared for you. Seems troubled though but, that's the good kind. You always find out something new."

Violet looked at Rachel, surprised by her assumptions. Rachel came forward and held Violet's hands and squeezed them. "Look I've seen so many couples, most of them lack something, and that's the element of surprise. Even though you're in the worst possible position in your life, he's your best bet."

* * *

Olaf looked at the array of rings before him. The shine between his eyes and the rings talked back and forth, as if they finally reunited after a long separation. A timid signal on metal on glass broke the spell, and Fernald was done dressed up in his tuxedo.

"Would you explain to me what's going on?"

"Which ring would you like?"

"I don't care, whichever one."

"You're right, any one of them will do." He gestured for the employee a specific one, thick and plated in silver. "I already have one for the orphan. Esmé will probably kill her for it."

"Boss, the will, how in the world am I going to have access to that money? For all we know, he's still alive, and- what about Fiona?"

"You're still thinking about your family?" Olaf snickered. "For God's sake, Hooky, this wedding, this is a second chance for everyone, including you. Why on earth are you hesitating when you're about to receive immeasurable amounts of money?"

"That's not the point. I think, this needs more careful planning. Like are we going to use anagrams? How will that impact on the banks and our identities?"

"Fernald, focus on the wedding. Violet seems to level with you. Give her encouragement; we need her to be on our side."

Fernald froze. He hoped Olaf never heard or thought about their plans. _What are you talking about? We haven't even started._ The white faced women entered the room, holding their bouquets and hit one of them on Fernald's head.

"Hooky, Miss Baudelaire won't open the door." Flo said.

"We need to put powder on her, or the wedding will be horrible." Tocuna said.

"Hooky, go check up on her." Olaf commanded.

"What? No, that would be horrible, see we're fr-"Tocuna objected.

"Boss, I think I can't see the bride yet-"Fernald agreed.

"Do as I say."

Fernald nodded. _She's getting closer as high maintenance_, he thought. He strolled through the rooms; all of them open except one of them.

_Murderer._

He slowed down his stride and blocked out the voice in his head.

_Runaway._

He shut his eyes and stopped in front in the door. He could hear a subtle melody, a man singing in harmony. _That's not who you are. _He knocked on the door lightly.

"Come in." A girl's voice answered.

He rolled his eyes. He knocked again.

The door swung and music burst from its cage, spilling from the radio.

"What is it?" Violet asked rather bothered. She stopped and locked eyes with Fernald's brown ones. Fernald's eyes widened when he saw her. Sure it was the same garments addressed previously at the play, but these were authentic, the real thing. Violet wore a thin veil behind her head, a boat neckline for her dress, sprawled with small flowers and tiny pearls creating a pattern.

"You look beautiful." He said.

"I don't need your compliments now, Fernald." She said, crossing her arms.

"Well you're lucky to know, Flo and Tocuna were about to cake you face with powder." He said with a grin. Violet smiled timidly.

"Do you have time?" Fernald asked taking glances from behind.

"Plenty." Violet said, gesturing him to take a seat.

* * *

**Sources:**

**JFK, June 11th Speech: Asset-Viewer/LH8F_ **


End file.
